X-Men

by Stuart Moore

  In that instant—while he was off-balance—she reached out and lifted him into the air.

  “J-Jean,” he gasped. He couldn’t move, could barely breathe. The Phoenix flared high, higher than before, its savage beak towering over the top of the open alcove.

  “Fight,” Jean said. “You want me to fight?”

  He squinted, struggling to make out her figure in the heart of the fire. Her face seemed to flicker, her expression strobing from rage to doubt and back again.

  “All I’ve done is fight,” she continued. “It’s all I want to do. And in my hunger, my fury, I killed five billion people.”

  “Not… you.”

  “Yes. Yes, me.” She stepped forward, staring up at his immobile form. “I hate this, Scott. I don’t want any of this. My heart is filled with rage at the forces that have brought me to this point.”

  Her face seemed to soften.

  “But I can’t remain in control of myself all my life. If even one more person died at my hands…”

  She closed her eyes. Behind her, the tall Kree cannon glowed and hummed to life.

  “Jean?”

  “It’s better this way.” She reached up and touched his face. Her voice, her touch—both were cooler now, softer. Utterly, wonderfully human.

  “Jean, no. Don’t do it.”

  “Remember me, okay?” She stepped back, smiling sadly. “Remember that crisp fall day. Remember Marvel Gir—”

  “No!”

  The cannon flared, just once. The beam lanced through her, enveloping her in light. The effect was beyond human comprehension—a power from another age, long forgotten. It reached out and grabbed hold of the Phoenix Force, absorbing and channeling its raging fire.

  That fire shot upward from the surface, like a bullet from a pistol. The Phoenix flared briefly in the sky, bright and wild against the stars. Then it shot away, vanishing like a comet.

  On the moon, Jean Grey fell.

  Cyclops dropped to the ground, free of the telekinetic force field. He crawled to her body, knowing what he would find.

  No breath. No pulse.

  No sign of life.

  “You planned this,” he whispered. “You knew there might be no alternative. Knew we could drain you of enough energy that you could… that this…” He shook his head, wiped away tears.

  “You picked the mind of the Kree observer.” He looked up at the cannon; it was dark again, its power spent. “Knew that his people’s ancient technology could… would allow you to…”

  And then words failed him, along with his strength. He heaved a great sob and collapsed over her body, weeping like a child.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  A FLASH of teleport light at the crater’s edge. Professor Xavier appeared, took in the carnage all around. The exposed pits, the fallen buildings, the scorched and scarred walls.

  Could all this have been avoided?

  He would never know.

  Maneuvering his hoverchair across the surface, he mind-scanned each fallen figure as he passed. The Imperial Guard members were injured, but they would recover. His X-Men were already beginning to awaken.

  Scott Summers was seated in a corner of the weapons alcove, his back to a stone wall. He held Jean’s head in his arms, stroking her hair. Xavier hovered up beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

  My first students, Xavier said, keeping his mental voice soft. And my best.

  Scott didn’t look up.

  One by one, the X-Men joined them. Nightcrawler, his demonic eyes wide with horror. Logan, with his light tread and rough growl. Storm, wafting like a somber angel on the thin air. Colossus, his flesh-and-blood features twisted into a mask of anguish.

  “She could have lived as a god.” Xavier gestured down at Jean’s body. Her expression, in death, seemed peaceful. Her eyes stared upward, as if seeing beyond this plane of existence. “But it was more important that she die as a human.”

  “There’s…” Scott faltered. “There’s so much I don’t understand.” He reached down and, with a gentle touch, slid her eyes closed.

  “I just know I love her.”

  PROLOGUE

  AT THAT exact moment, two hundred forty thousand miles away, an SUV with a pink mustache on its bumper slowed as it approached a familiar address on Graymalkin Lane. It signaled and turned onto a well-kept driveway, passing through the outer gates of the Xavier Institute of Higher Learning.

  Inside the car, Kitty Pryde frowned at her phone. Her last four texts had gone unanswered, so she sent another.

  ORORO? GUYS? I HAVE ARRIVED! ANYONE HOME?

  She paused, then added:

  EVERYBODY ALIVE?

  The grounds seemed deserted. As they approached the front door, Kitty had to stop herself from phasing through the car door before the driver came to a stop. She wrenched open her side, ran up the steps, and pressed the bell three times.

  No answer.

  The driver approached, rolling her suitcase behind him. “You want me to wait?” he asked.

  She frowned, considered for a moment. A fall breeze blew up, ruffling her curly hair. It felt cool, refreshing. “No thanks.” She shrugged. “I always liked being early for school.”

  “Ah! You are a nerd.” The driver smiled at her. “It’s good.”

  She laughed. Arranged her bags around her and sat down on the front steps, soaking in the feel of the grounds. The place where she hoped to spend the rest of her teenage years. Where she would learn to use her mutant powers, for the good of humanity.

  She waved as the SUV drove away. Then she kicked her feet up in the air, barely able to contain her excitement.

  “Yeah,” she said, a wide smile crossing her face. “It’s good.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  THIS IS the third Marvel novel I’ve written and, in many ways, the most daunting. Updating this classic for the 21st century presented some real challenges. Steve Saffel’s sure editorial hand guided me through all the crucial points; Cat Camacho and Hayley Shepherd provided vital last-minute notes and corrections. Thanks also to the incredible people at Marvel for their help and support—particularly Caitlin O’Connell and, of course, Jeff Youngquist.

  Thanks, as well, to everyone who listened as I babbled on about female power and the #metoo era. I want to note especially novelist Corinne Duyvis, who helped immensely through a wholly unexpected conversation at the Emerald City Comic Con. The attitudes and story interpretations in this book, of course, are mine alone, and not the fault of anyone else.

  Tom Peyer, Hart Seely, and the staff of AHOY Comics provided constant distractions. Without you guys, I might have finished this book months earlier.

  And a special shout-out—as always—to the smartest person I know, prolific author (and lovely wife) Liz Sonneborn. Without whom, etc.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  STUART MOORE is a writer, a book editor, and an award-winning comics editor. His current writing includes the comics series Captain Ginger and Bronze Age Boogie for AHOY Comics, and an adaptation of the novel Batman: Nightwalker for DC’s Ink imprint.

  Stuart’s recent comics writing includes Deadpool the Duck (Marvel), Batman: Noir Alley (DC/Turner Classic Movies), and EGOs (Image). Novels include Thanos: Death Sentence (Marvel) and three volumes of The Zodiac Legacy, a Disney series created and co-written by Stan Lee. Other comics work includes Wolverine Noir and Namor: The First Mutant (Marvel); Firestorm (DC Comics); assorted Star Trek and Transformers projects; and the original science-fiction graphic novels Earthlight, PARA, Shadrach Stone, and Mandala. He has also written the novel version of Marvel’s Civil War and John Carter: The Movie Novelization.

  Stuart currently holds the mysterious title of “Ops” for AHOY Comics. In the past, he has been a book editor at St. Martin’s Press and editor of the Virgin Comics / SciFi Channel and Marvel Knights comics imprints. At DC Comics, he was a founding editor of the acclaimed Vertigo imprint, where he won both the Will Eisner Award for Best Editor and the Don Thompson Award for Fav
orite Editor. Stuart lives in Brooklyn, New York, about a hundred miles due south of the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning.